


Mr. Fine

by FFlove190



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post DoC, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFlove190/pseuds/FFlove190
Summary: Zack Fair and Vincent Valentine spend another day together after the end of the world.





	1. Can I Call You Mr. Fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize I was into these guys until I read some, and now I dig it very deeply.  
> Shoutout to [sakurablossomhime](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrygirlprime) for turning me onto this pairing. Go read some of her stuff if you haven't yet. 
> 
> Beta'd by: [tyrannosaurus_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrannosaurus_rose/pseuds/tyrannosaurus_rose)

“Ah-ha!” Zack rolled onto Vincent’s cloak. Sand followed the movement. Vincent could have sworn Zack took sand wherever he went. Then again, they lived in the desert, it should have been unsurprising that it was Zack’s second skin. 

 

Vincent pretended to ignore the movement. Spending time with Zack was surreal - for all the calm hours and wise words and wistful moments, there were just as many times where Zack’s exuberance was as exhausting and adorable as a puppy’s. 

 

Zack was currently attempting to roll himself up Vincent’s cloak; he didn’t get very far. Vincent leaned back to give him more fabric. That was apparently all the invitation Zack needed to abandon the project. 

 

“Vincent!” Arms wrapped around Vincent’s neck and Zack’s breath huffed in his ear. 

 

“What is it?” Vincent didn't stop cleaning his gauntlet. Zack would know he was paying attention, but Vincent liked to pretend he wasn't. Zack always had an uncanny instinct about people; he never pushed Vincent too far, pressured just when Vincent needed it, and whenever he called Vincent on his shit he did it in both the most awkward and endearing way possible. Vincent loved it when Zack thought he wasn’t paying attention; those conversations were hilarious. 

 

Zack didn’t take the bait. Instead he said, “I know what we’d be called if we got married!” 

 

“... excuse me?” Sometimes Zack didn’t make any sense. Non sequiturs were one Zack’s fortes. Sometimes Vincent thought they were going to have a reasonable conversation, and then he remembered that Zack was as childish as they come. So childish that he had helped Vincent remember his own childish side. 

 

Zack waved a hand in front of Vincent’s face, then the other followed. That wasn’t very explanatory but it did catch Vincent’s attention. “You see, when you take my name and your name and put them together…” Zack's two index fingers pointed inward sharply, and slowly closed in on each other until they bumped. “They make… FINE!” 

 

When Vincent finally stop cleaning long enough to look at Zack properly. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t tell whether or not his boyfriend was serious. “You spend your time in strange ways.” 

 

Zack snorted but smiled. “I mean, like, what else is it gunna be? Fairentine? Valenair? Vair? Fine just has the best ring to it. Fine, Fine, Fine. See?” 

 

Vincent went back to cleaning his gauntlet. “I’m not changing my name to ‘Fine.’” 

 

“What? You  _ want _ to keep your stripper name? That’s just ridiculous.” 

 

“It’s not a stripper name.” Vincent didn’t know why he was trying to explain this. Again.

 

“You sure? You coulda fooled me with your skintight outfit and sexy boots.” Zack tugged at the nearest belt he could find. 

 

“My father, Grimoire Valentine, gave me the name.” The ‘under no circumstances will I change my birth name’ argument would end with Zack narrowing his eyes and writing down lists of alternative names. Like it always did. Despite how often they had these conversations - and how tedious the argument was becoming - Vincent couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer variety of names Zack came up with every time. 

 

Truthfully, Vincent wondered if Zack suffered from memory problems like Cloud. Considering the fact that the former SOLDIER had been the unwilling subject of inhuman experiments - first in Nibelheim, and then in a Deepground storage tank - Vincent would honestly be more surprised if he didn’t have memory problems. 

 

“Yeesh. Seriously, are you sure you aren’t a vampire? Vincent borne of Grimoires. Sounds like something straight out of a movie.” Zack fiddled with Vincent’s gauntlet, pressing on the back of Vincent’s armored knuckles. Vincent gave up cleaning and opened his palm - Zack slide his hand in with a gleeful noise and squeezed. This, despite the fact that Vincent’s human hand was hovering right there and perfectly acceptable for holding. 

 

It was just another thing Zack did without realizing it: going for the dark parts of yourself and showering it with affection. Gentle touches, nudges, and an always enthusiastic presence until you yourself was glad it was a part of you. It was just in Zack’s nature. Vincent wondered if he did that enough for Zack, was there enough for the dark bits and pieces that Zack never shared with anyone. 

 

Vincent rubbed his thumb along Zack’s hand and refocused on the conversation. “I’m fairly certain vampires don’t exist.” 

 

“They could!” Zack nuzzled into Vincent’s cloak, nose burying into the meat of his neck. “We could go on a journey to find them!” 

 

Zack had always suggested it - journeying, wandering the planet from place to place. Whenever he brought it up, he phrased it differently: frog hunting, visiting the folks, go find some treasure, touch the top of every defunct mako reactor and mako fountain, etcetera. Lately, Zack had been stuck on tracking down myths and legends. (Vincent wasn’t quite sure how Zack had figured out his greatest weakness, but it hadn’t taken Zack that long. It was probably a Turk, Zack seemed to know all of them.)

 

Whenever Zack brought up a journey, Vincent wondered if his boyfriend was restless. His SOLDIER routine had him running around the world multiple times a week - the only times he had ever stopped were on a forced vacation and when he was dragged into the labs (Zack had pointed out, upon recounting his adventures, that both had been interrupted; he promptly smiled and dragged Vincent off to look at what he decided was an interesting rock formation - aka make-out spot #15). But, maybe Zack just wanted to get away from Midgar, from Cloud, from bad memories. 

 

Vincent wasn’t sure. It could have been all of those things, or none of them. For all that he prided himself on being the resident Zack Fair expert, he always felt like he knew so little. 

 

“If they did exist.” Vincent disengaged from his thoughts to focus on half-baked theories he had cobbled together more than a quarter century ago. Back when he thought he could hunt for UFOs during Turk missions. “Meteor and Holy might have destroyed them.” 

 

“They could have gone into hiding!” Zack shook his arms, and Vincent rocked with the motion. “Vampires don’t suck mako out of the ground and they don’t hang out waiting for the world to end in Midgar, right? I’m sure they’re hanging out somewhere eating goblin blood or something.” 

 

“Why goblins?” Vincent snorted. 

 

Zack laughed. “Because goblins have really similar phyisc…psycho...uh, physiology. Yeah. When I was running around way back when some smarties were starting to make transplantable organs from goblin cells.” 

 

Vincent was always baffled that Zack knew so much about so many strange things. “That’s… strange.” 

 

Zack shrugged. “I didn’t know all the details. Just blurbs, but I think our blood types are compatible? Or something like that.” Zack waved a hand like it would make Vincent less curious. “But people think vampires drink wolf blood which is a LOT different from human blood, so why wouldn’t they go after goblins? We’re similar enough.” 

 

“Human organs are also very similar to farm animals,” Vincent noted absently. 

 

Zack nudged him. “You callin’ people dumb as the flock, Mr. Fine?” 

 

“That’s Mr. Valentine to you.” Vincent huffed. He decided not to call on the vampire and religion joke, acknowledging it would only reward Zack’s persistence. Neither of them were very religious, nor were they priests of any sort. It was just one of those things Zack liked to say anyway.

 

“Well, Mr. Valentine, trying to take some wayward sheep and suck their blood, are you?” Zack bit at Vincent’s cloak teasingly. The sharp edges of Zack’s teeth tore at the fabric a bit, a reminder of exactly what those teeth could do. 

 

“I’m not a vampire.” Vincent wondered how far he would be able to get with Zack latched around his neck: either in an adorable piggy back ride way or Zack pretending to be a vampire - teeth sinking into his flesh and not letting go. It would be fun to see if he could fly like that. “And I was referring to pigs, not sheep.” 

 

“Details, details.” Zack laughed. Then he disengaged, hopping around to Vincent’s front. Vincent felt a smudge of disappointment. “So! Where we going, Vincent? ” 

 

How Zack knew that Vincent wanted to take him somewhere, Vincent wasn’t sure. Had Zack sensed a shift in his weight, caught wind of the mental image of a puppy chomping at his wings? Zack was always eerily perceptive - apparently he’d always been.

 

Vincent wanted to tell Zack that they were going to Goblin Island - a place he was fairly certain Zack had never heard of, the place they had found the elusive Knights of the Round materia (one of the fairy tales that even Vincent had scoffed at when he was a Turk). But they couldn’t just leave: Vincent had responsibilities, the WRO didn’t want Zack to wander too far, and the sprawling urban centers of Kalm and Edge still had more than enough problems for them to solve. He decided on a different journey: “The grocery store.” 

 

“Booo!” Zack was already bounding out the door. “They never have ice cream.” 

 

“The apocalypse came twice,” Vincent pointed out as he followed, making sure to lock the door behind them. They didn’t have much, but Zack’s lack of security was always worrying. “Ice cream isn’t an essential dairy.” 

 

“How about plain ol’ cream? Is that an essential dairy?” Zack spun around and dipped into a squat before bounding back up. “Because we could churn it ourselves and  _ make _ ice cream! It’s super fun! It takes forever but it’s super fun! All you need is a bowl, some ice and a spoon! And cream, yeah, cream. Oh! And salt!” 

 

“Cream is a byproduct of milk production.” Vincent pointed out, already planning out the acquisition of everything else. “We should be able to procure some.” 

 

Zack thought about that for a second. “Yanno Mr. Fine, you know some weird stuff.” 

 

Vincent laughed. “And so the pot tells the kettle.” 

 

“Don’t go boiling my water!” 

 

“No, Zack, that’s not how that phrase goes.” 

 

Zack just laughed and slung an arm around Vincent’s and dragged him into Edge. 

 

[...]

 

In the brief snatches of time Zack’s overwhelming energy wasn’t directed at him, Vincent pondered his boyfriend. The end of the world had come and left everyone with a darkness - but Zack had slept through it. That had to leave its own kind of darkness. 

 

But Zack didn’t  _ look _ it, not at first glance. With the way he churned ice cream, focused and laughing to himself, he didn’t seem burdened by the weight of sins. Vincent knew that wasn’t the case, but he still got lost in Zack’s peaceful smiles. 

 

It was just brief flashes of weakness that revealed the deep scratches in Zack’s soul. A darkness in his eyes, the way he would go still and say nothing for a long while, when he would hold his head when he thought no one was looking… Sometimes it seemed like Zack was walking on thin ice, every shift in weight, every move he made, made hairline fractures: it felt like something was close to breaking, something that couldn’t be repaired. Was it something that would break in Zack, something Vincent may not be able to repair? Was it something Zack thought he would break in the people around him? 

 

Whatever it was, it was probably why Zack agreed to stay in Edge, to go with the flow. Zack seemed determined to bear the burden of saving the world on his shoulders: it was a painful, lonely existence. 

 

Zack didn’t talk about the past, was closed tighter than any Turk Vincent had met. He didn’t talk much about the future either. 

 

So Vincent had gone searching, listening, and uncovering. The bits and pieces he had cobbled together made Vincent’s lament for Lucrecia look laughable. Vincent had lost people before - in the time he worked as a Turk, the time before, and the time he travelled with AVALANCHE. The greatest tragedies weren’t truly so - Aeris lived on in the lifestream (it would be foolish to believe otherwise), Lucrecia still lived and her wit was in Shelke’s mind, and even Vincent’s peers from his Turking days were still wandering around. 

 

10 years ago, Zack had a plentiful bouquet of people in his life - an unsurprising fact for anyone who met Zack. But something happened: one by one the people he loved betrayed him, lose their minds and Zack had taken his blade to them. A mentor, a friend too stubborn to ask for help, comrades who looked up to him, and others lost to history. Vincent remembered the brief snatches of Cloud’s insanity, when Sephiroth overpowered him - he couldn’t imagine having to raise his gun again and again, one after the other, against AVALANCHE. 

 

Zack Fair was tragically beautiful for his strength, his determination to keep moving and stay kind. The world had done it’s best to kill him, and he still wanted to save it. Vincent didn’t know if there was a better man living or dead. 

 

“What’re you looking so serious for?” Zack knocked his boot into Vincent’s with a smile.  He waved a spoonful of freshly churned ice cream around. Vincent shouldn’t have been surprised Zack had finished churning it while he had been lost in his thoughts. 

 

“I’m just thinking.” 

 

Zack laughed. “You think too much.” Zack took another bite and made a happy noise. “Whatchya thinkin’ about?” 

 

Vincent watched Zack for a little while longer. The darkness at the edge of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the carefree smile on his face. “You.”

 

A flush touched Zack’s cheeks. “Well, I’m honored to be in your thoughts, Mr. Fine.” 

 

“Valentine.” 

 

“I’m gonna  _ fine _ you for that one! Ha! Get it?!” Zack laughed at his own joke. 

 

Vincent rolled his eyes and wondered, as he always did, if he shouldn’t worry after all. 

 

“Oh! You know where this would taste amazing! The edge of Edge!” Zack laughed again. 

 

“If you keep speaking in puns I will remove your ice cream.” 

 

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that.” 

 

Vincent laughed and took the ice cream anyway, forcing Zack to keep up. He knew the perfect spot - Zack’s favorite rock formation - to eat their ice cream with the perfect amount of sand. 

 

[...]

 

Zack was convinced: Vincent thought too much. The guy was prone to moments of deep introspection, going silent for hours at a time and then picking up the conversation right where they had left off as if the sun hadn’t sunk low in the sky between the last thing he said and when next he opened his mouth. It was pretty cute (and sort of annoying). 

 

It was easy to tell people that Zack had made it his life’s work to cheer up a certain tall, dark, and serious hottie up. And that everything that followed - the kissing, the dating, the ice cream - that was all just an added bonus. It was easier than explaining what actually happened, even though Zack had to admit that it was the kind of romantic comedy bullshit that Angeal would have loved. The meet cute where Vincent pulled him out of a containment pod, the misunderstandings, the almost killing each other thing. It would probably make a good comic book. 

 

“So you  _ do _ like ice cream.” 

 

Vincent shrugged. The cup of homemade ice cream he was holding was empty.  “I never said I didn’t.” There it was: the hint of a laugh but not quite laugh, the crinkle in his eyes, and if he lifted his head enough Zack would see that tiny adorable smile. Zack lived for that smile.

 

“All right. It’s on the list. Right next to cookies, cotton candy, and maple bars.” Sweet Tooth Vincent confirmed. 

 

“I’ve never eaten such things in your presence.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I hear stories.” Yuffie and Cid were eager to get on the ‘make Vincent a little less like a recluse vampire’ train and always let him know when Mr. Cloaks-a-Lot snuck something off a buffet. 

 

Vincent grumbled something about nosy children and looked away. It was even cuter when Zack thought about their age differences, Vincent was like twice his age but still looked twice at him. 

 

Zack bounded over and wrapped Vincent’s shoulders in a good squish. “You’re too cute. You know that?” 

 

“So says the pot.” 

 

Vincent with his humor: drier than the desert they lived in. It was downright adorable, it should be a crime. “So you want more ice cream? Huh? Is that it?” Zack nudged at Vincent with his forehead, enjoying the tickle of hair. Vincent always smelled musty - which was really funny considering that Zack made sure to give him a sun bath every day. Maybe he just needed some new clothes, or his clothes just needed their own separate sun bath. Hmmm, naked sunbathing Vincent.

 

Vincent shrugged again, but didn’t move away. Instead he leaned towards Zack with a little nuzzle. 

 

Eating ice cream and cuddling, watching the sun set over the crumpled expanse of Midgar in the distance. Being like this, it almost felt like he hadn’t missed the end of the world, like he didn’t have to face reality for a little while longer. 

 

“So, Mr. Fine,” Zack nudged at his boyfriend. “Now that we have all the ice cream the world could ever want.” A pointed lie, Zack had bartered long and hard to get enough cream to make a few bowls. “What else do you want to do today?” 

 

Vincent deflated, sort of like he sighed. But Vincent never actually sighed, not something so mundane and human! Vampire gods forbid. If Zack bothered to turn, Vincent would be giving him one of those looks that begged Zack to explain why Vincent suffered his presence (almost like Vincent knew what was going on in his head). It was a look full of love. Mostly. 

 

“I have no plans.” 

 

“Great! Then we can go vampire hunting!” 

 

Vincent deflated even more until he was practically a pile of loose muscle held together by skin-tight leather and belts. “We discussed this.” 

 

“And you never said they didn’t exist.” Zack reached for Vincent’s claw. It always made great clinking sounds and the texture was fun on his fingers - cool, smooth, sometimes sharp. Vincent always went to hand hold with his gloved hand, so Zack felt obligated to share the love between extremities (Vincent still didn’t get the foot holding). When their hands touched, Vincent’s claw clenched gently around Zack’s. Like it always did, the action made Zack’s heart fill with warmth. 

 

“Whether they did or did not exist,” Vincent said with all the diplomatic grace of an ex-Turk, “there is nothing to prove they exist now.”

 

Zack knew that Vincent wanted to go hunting just as much as he did, but he was just a bundle of responsibility that one. Vincent had more odd jobs than when Zack was in SOLDIER. That, and, apparently everyone gave Vincent a lot of shit when he disappeared. 

 

Zack wasn’t sure why he kept pressing his travel plans. Did he just want Vincent to admit to being a massive nerd, or did he want to get out of Edge. Both sounded like great options - the first because he could tease Vincent relentlessly and the second because he’d finally be out of the city that tasted like broken dreams, the city that reminded him day in and day out of everything he lost.

 

“But there’s nothing to prove that they _ don’t  _ exist either.” Zack settled until his arms were wrapped loosely around Vincent’s shoulders - a Zack mantle, definitely worth patenting - and he was half on his boyfriend’s lap. “So we might as well go look for them.” 

 

Vincent huffed. “You want to travel the world, hunting an imaginary creature, simply because nothing proves they  _ don’t _ exist.” 

 

“With you, yeah.” Zack played with Vincent’s claw, enjoying the way that Vincent delicately reacted to him. “I mean, what else are we gonna do with all our time?”

 

Zack was sure Vincent had a million ideas, starting with: sleeping, reading, and then ending with eating all the sweets he could find. Zack was starting to suspect that both of them were immortal - how else could Zack still, still,  _ still _ be alive and Vincent look so pretty despite being older than Zack’s parents (which was a little weird if he thought about it, so he didn’t). 

 

Vincent turned in Zack’s embrace, their noses bumped and Vincent’s cloak brushed against Zack’s lips. “Enjoy it.” 

 

The words were soft and sent a spike of warmth straight down Zack’s spine. It was like a little piece of sunshine had settled into Zack’s stomach, warming him and filling him with peace. 

 

Zack lowered Vincent’s cowl and gave those cool, snarky lips - the ones that could say more sweet nothings than a bad rom com - a peck. “That doesn’t sound half bad.” 

 

Zack could feel Vincent’s smile. “How passive of you.” 

 

That was an insult, even Zack knew it. 

 

Before he could answer, Vincent was standing and Zack had to tighten his clamped arms to keep from eating sand. “H-hey!” 

 

“I have a task. You are free to come along,” Vincent said it with a hint of a laugh. Vincent had the weirdest sense of humor, but Zack was glad he was getting a kick out of the situation.

 

“I’ll cling to you ‘till Mr. Fine can’t go nowhere without a Zack cape!” It was a promise.

 

Vincent laughed quietly. “It’s Valentine. And that’s  _ fine _ -al.”

 

“Ha! I’ve infected you with puns!” Zack laughed and enjoying the answering rumble he got back. He kept clinging to Vincent on their journey to wherever. Which was probably home, now that he thought about it. 

 

Maybe they would never go vampire hunting and Zack would be stuck staring at the husk of Midgar for the rest of his life. But, he had Vincent; he wasn’t alone anymore. Things were good, just for that. 

 

“Thanks for eating ice cream with me, Vincent,” Zack whispered it into that red collar. It smelled like must, and soap, and desert sunshine. 

 

“I’d eat ice cream with you any day,” Vincent whispered in Zack’s ear. There was some rustling, and lips pecked his ear. 

 

Little things like this: holding each other, smelling each other, soft kisses that didn’t promise anything more. This was the peace that Zack had always wanted, had always needed, but never knew it; and he was so thankful for everyday and every moment they shared together. Zack didn’t know how to express that in words; that had always been his greatest failing. 

 

Instead he didn’t say anything. He just laughed and nuzzled into his boyfriend’s neck. 


	2. How about here, Mr. Fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by: [tyrannosaurus_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrannosaurus_rose/pseuds/tyrannosaurus_rose)

The morning sun always made the ruins of Midgar look severe. Every angle seemed sharper, every crumbled building a threat, and every shadow stretched like inky blackness. It was haunting. And then there was Zack, bouncing through it without a care in the world. 

 

It was part of their routine now, these morning walks in Midgar. The sheer juxtaposition of Zack against the backdrop never failed to make Vincent linger just so he could enjoy the view. 

 

Currently, the former SOLDIER First was engaged in clamoring up scrap piles - bits of rust and loose rubble tumbled loose in his wake. Zack could have easily walked around it and up the gentle slope of the fallen freeway, could just as easily have made the jump from ground to top of the concrete slab (Vincent had witnessed that feat on this very section of rubble). But Zack was intent on getting tetanus and having a good time doing it. 

 

To top things off, his back was completely exposed. Not even a sword equipped. Typical.

 

“Zack,” Vincent called.

 

Zack leaned back one handedly. The pile was sturdy, unlikely to go anywhere, but it still creaked ominously with the movement. Given Zack's luck he would probably bring the whole thing down on their heads one day. But Zack didn't think about the danger, he wore an easy going smile and his hair was loose in the breeze. “What's up?”

 

“Where is your sword?” 

 

Zack blinked, frowned, and then lifted his free hand in a shrug. “Dunno. Must have forgot it.” 

 

Vincent understood that Zack was functionally forgetful - he would forget an item or two, but work around it. Even when the item was crucial in ensuring Zack's safety. “Your sword?” 

 

Zack laughed. “It happens sometimes. Don’t freak out about it.” 

 

“I’m not freaking out.” Vincent had only done that the first time, before he realized the extent of Zack's hand to hand combat skills. “Simply concerned about your safety.” Vincent wanted to say forgetfulness, but it rolled away from his tongue before he could pause. He sometimes had a feeling that it was a legitimate concern, something Zack worried about day-to-day and why he stuck so religiously to his routine, and this wasn't the place Vincent wanted to bring it up. 

 

Zack shook with laughter so hard he nearly lost his grip. Maybe Vincent was right to be more concerned about Zack's safety than anything else. 

 

“If it makes you feel better,” Zack started tugging at things in the pile: the rebar sticking out of the concrete and pipes that dissolved on contact. The entire sector seemed to moan at the treatment. “Why don’t you find me something to smash things with?” 

 

Vincent was inches away from simply grabbing Zack by the collar and flying him the rest of the way. ‘Morning walk’ be damned. Zack was worse than a child sometimes with how frequently he got into trouble. It was like he was trying to bring the thing down on them, like he didn't have a grasp of consequences. 

 

“I will. Now keep climbing.” 

 

“Yessir, Mr. Fine.” Obediently Zack continued clamboring up the scrap pile. “See ya at the top!” 

 

And Zack was out of sight. Vincent hopped up and landed just in time to witness Zack stumble over a jutting edge of concrete. Zack’s arms pinwheeled and he fell into a statue with a loud slap. At least the marble had been waiting with open arms. 

 

“That’s why we have rules about running in the rubble.” Vincent knew Zack was fine. It seemed like nothing could injure Zack. Vincent didn't know if that had always been true and Zack was brilliantly lucky - an image of Zack as a child invaded his mind, running around Gongaga defying death time and time again, blithely unaware of the danger while his parents tore their hair out - or if this was a recent addition to Zack’s life. Either way Vincent still took care and always had a Restore handy. 

 

“Pshaw, I’m a trained SOLDIER. I can run across anything like it’s not there. Even water!” Zack pushed himself off the statue, patting it’s cheek as he went; he didn't notice the red mark on his cheek from where they collided. It looked like nothing more than a slap, no bruising or swelling. Once he was suitably standing and not falling over himself, Zack turned to face Vincent with a smile. 

 

“Really. Even water?” That was new and particularly illogical. Even for Zack. 

 

“With the right shoes, you can do  _ anything _ .” Zack smiled wistfully at the sky. “I really liked those floaters, wonder if we could find any around here. Would be really helpful on our vampire hunt.” 

 

Vincent took the time to look over a loose pile of scrap while Zack was talking. Vincent didn't doubt the invention existed - Zack knew a variety of strange facts about the strangest things: all of these facts were verifiable but had often been forgotten or overlooked in a world built for survival first. 

 

Vincent was now painfully curious what ‘floaters’ looked like. He was envisioning swim floaters that were strapped around the ankle, maybe brown or blue with feathers (probably from a blue chocobo). It sounded like an awful lot of work. Vincent made a note to mention the things to Reeve. 

 

Vincent pulled out a long pipe - one end was exploded and the metal curled into a dozen sharpened points. “I believe this would be more helpful.” Vincent pointed the damaged end in Zack’s direction.

 

Zack squinted at it. “Huh, looks like a pipe-brella. Think it’ll block rain?” 

 

Vincent held it above his head to experiment. When he looked up, he could see the sky between the metal. “Unlikely.” 

 

Zack laughed and picked his way over with more care than he had been the rest of this morning. Looks like he had finally expended all that extra energy. 

 

“Yanno, Mr. Fine, when you do stuff like that you really look like a vampire straight outta a comic book.” 

 

Usually Vincent could make the jump between Zack's words and his logic. But not always. At times like this he didn't even know where to begin. “How so?” 

 

Zack smiled sweetly, he lifted up on his toes until his hand was over Vincent’s on the pipe. It was an intimate gesture, feeling the warmth of Zack's hand on his own. Not for the first time, Vincent wondered what it would feel like to weild a weapon with Zack. Intimate, sensual, powerful - like how in stories the heroes would have to band together to wield one weapon to destroy the greatest evil. Hand over hand, holding a stone of power, facing down an insurmountable threat...

 

That wasn't how real life worked - Aeris and Cloud had proved that. 

 

Zack's hand slid down, flecking rust as he went, until it was wrapped fully around the pipe. Vincent released it and Zack bounced away. 

 

“Like so!” Zack held it above his head like an umbrella and twirled. Vincent had the sudden image of Zack playing in the rain, he would throw his head back and let the water fall on his skin, he’d have a broken umbrella over his head as he spun and spun. Mud on his boots, clothes soaked, and all of his troubles washed away. 

 

They were still on the concrete slabs of Midgar, the ones that jutted up across broken cars and fallen buildings. The air stunk of gas and oil. The world was painted in monochromes of rust. It hadn't rained in a year. 

 

Vincent didn’t give a damn. Sights like this made his heart skip a beat. 

 

“I fail to see the correlation to vampires.” Vincent managed. 

 

Zack stopped spinning, shifting his balance between a car and some concrete, and tilted his head. “Really? Huh.” The metal pipe thwacked against Zack’s shoulder and there it stayed. It still looked a little bit more like a dangerous weapon Vincent had envisioned than the toy Zack had been using it as. 

 

Vincent suddenly wondered what dangerous implements Zack could make look like child’s playthings, and what child’s toys Zack could use in battle. The rubber ducky was of particular interest.

 

Zack didn't elaborate on his response, simply turned on his heel and hummed a song. Sometimes he did that when he was trying to figure out how to answer a question - filling the silence with wordless noise so that his thoughts would keep from getting lost. Sometimes the thought got lost anyway. Most people found it irritating, but most weren't Vincent. 

 

Vincent followed after Zack. The song trailed away and he asked, “So why do you think vampires have parasols?” 

 

“To keep from getting sunburnt.” Zack said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He didn’t even turn back as he shuffled up broken buildings on the path deeper into the sector. 

 

“So you apply to the theory that vampires are creatures of the night.” 

 

“No, I apply that they’re pasty and burn easily. Like -” Zack stopped himself suddenly, breath catching. Like who? Sephiroth, a name that meant so much to Zack but he rarely spoke it even in a whisper? Angeal, the one close to Zack's heart that Vincent knew so little about? Cloud, who Zack loved dearly but handled like broken glass? Like a record skipping a beat, Zack finished his thought like he hasn't stopped at all. Just a peppy, “Like you!” 

 

Vincent let moment slide and added it to the list of secret things that bothered Zack. 

 

“I am not a vampire,” Vincent said it as he came abreast of Zack. It was comfortable next to Zack, made the husk of a city feel a little more alive. Besides, Vincent had the sense that Zack needed someone to ground him, not to hide behind him as he went forward alone. 

 

“Yeah, but,” Zack elbowed him, the tinge of relief in his voice barely noticeable. “You cover up like you’re gunna burn. Why else have all that extra bandana and collar?” 

 

“This happens to be my personal style.” 

 

“Hmm, well I don’t doubt that, Mr. Fine.” 

 

Vincent laughed, he wasn’t sure what he found so funny - Zack’s conviction or the idea that Zack might one day try and change his wardrobe. Vincent could almost imagine what Zack would present to him: a turtleneck tank and cargo pants, probably in red. Zack laughed, too. 

 

“Come on, we don't have all day, Mr. Fine!” And then Zack was off, bounding across the rubble like it was an open pasture. Zack must have forgotten his earlier spill, or he didn’t care about the pain he must have felt. It was a statement: Zack Fair was alive and he was going to keep on living. 

 

Vincent smiled. He felt young and free, and ran after his boyfriend. 

 

[...]

 

Zack claimed to never stick to a schedule. But day in day out he was up with the sun and completed a battery of chores before Vincent even rolled out of the bed. And here they were. Just like every week, same time as always, Zack was in Aeris’s church with a sword maintence kit. 

 

Vincent always went with him. The first few times had been because he had to, because the WRO wanted him to shadow Zack’s every step; the next few to make sure Zack didn't run away when he turned squirrely; eventually Vincent just started coming regardless. He wasn't obligated to follow Zack around anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. But with a life as interesting as Zack's, who wouldn't? 

 

“I think she’d be glad.” Zack said before he began his ritual. He was crouched at the side of the pool and watching it glisten in the morning sun. The church was a peaceful place, calming and refreshing like a deep sleep. 

 

“Oh?” Vincent blinked out of his daze. 

 

Zack gestured to the water. “Just think of how many falls she can break now. Wait… no that didn’t come out right.” 

 

Vincent laughed anyway. That probably hadn't been her intent when she summoned the Great Gospel from beyond the veil. Zack rarely said anything before he started, and it always felt more like he was talking to the dead than to Vincent. But Vincent was here with him, willing to listen, willing to laugh when there would be only silence. 

 

“Yes. She can do a lot of good this way.” Vincent thought of geostigma and all those she had saved with her healing water. Vincent thought of the pilgrimages people would make to this place and pray to the planet with her as their medium. 

 

Sometimes, it seemed, words didn’t quite work right for Zack - they needed a little extra clarification here and there. It was a funny fact considering how uncanny Zack was about people and how strong a relationships he forged - usually people were patient enough to let him try again. Vincent wondered just how patient Aeris had been with Zack; how deep had their relationship been, friends, lovers, fools falling in love? Vincent didn’t know. 

 

Zack gave him one of those lopsided smiles - the ones that made Vincent’s heart feel warm. Thoughts of Zack’s past relationships shuddered to a halt. “Yeah.” Was all Zack said.

 

Then Zack stood up and hopped into the water. This, too, was part of the routine. The first time, Vincent had pointed out that Zack didn’t have to go through the water to reach the sword. There was plenty floorboard left to walk to the altar, or if Zack wanted to get there faster he could have certainly jumped it. And the first time, just like every subsequent time (whether Vincent said anything or not), Zack would turn in the water and say:

 

“Ah, that’s refreshing.” Zack began to slosh through the pool. “Is it me or is the water getting deeper?” 

 

Vincent noted how high it went on Zack’s thighs. His analytical part of mind also noted that it was indeed higher than last time. 

 

It was a perfectly innocent scene, a perfectly serene place. But Vincent’s mind suddenly remembered how Zack’s thighs had looked in the candlelight last night, his fingers stark against Zack’s skin, the indents and bruises he left, the way Zack arched - Vincent cleared his throat.

 

What was it about being with Zack that made Vincent feel like a teenager again?

 

Aeris would probably laugh at him for being so flustered. “The soil,” Vincent cleared his throat again, trying to get rid of the husk in his voice, trying to show Zack that he had no intention of derailing Zack’s schedule. “The soil is settling, I suppose.”

 

Zack tossed a look over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. Anyone else would be ashamed of Vincent for having thoughts like that here, of all places. Not Zack. “Looks like Mr. Fine just wants to schlorp through the muck with me, doesn’t he?” Zack laughed, his voice echoing nicely against what remained of the church walls. “Well! Then it’s decided, we’ll go vampire hunting in the zolom mashes.” 

 

Vincent shrugged like he didn’t care. 

 

He’d heard stories of the place: filled with mud and zoloms, the dank odor of rot bubbling up, insects everywhere… it wasn’t the kind of place Vincent would chalk down as a place to adventure. 

 

But with Zack leading the way, it sounded like a childhood getaway. They could build a treehouse that swayed in the winds, roast snakes for dinner, make mud pies at sunset, and kiss like someone was going to catch them. 

 

Vincent wanted to go. He wanted to see Zack living life outside of the desert, experiencing things truly new to him and not just trapped in a vortex of memories. Instead he said, “We don’t have clearance to leave.” 

 

Zack was pushing himself up onto the flower bed. The floorboards creaked under his weight, water dripping off of him and pattering back into the pool below, onto the wood, onto the flowers. A harmony of sounds that accompanied the chorus that was Zack Fair. Zack turned and gave Vincent a smirk, “Yeah, well I don’t exactly have clearance to be here either. But here I am.” 

 

“True.” Was all Vincent could say when he was beset by the moment. 

 

Zack wandered into the flower bed. Each step was taken with care, almost reverence. Not for the first time Vincent wondered how important this place had been to him before, how important it was now. 

 

Then he was in the middle, next to the sword that Cloud had made a monument years ago. 

 

“Here we go.” Zack hefted the Buster Sword; the movement did pleasant things to his arms. Standard issue WRO swords just couldn’t do that - far too light. 

 

Zack settled in the space that the sword had rested, and plopped down just like usual. The floorboard creaked but didn’t give way this time. The sword was wide against Zack’s legs as he pulled out his care kit. “Gotta make sure there’s no wear, tear, or rust, yanno?” 

 

Vincent glided over the floorboards until he was next to Zack. Near enough to touch, but far enough to give Zack space without interruption. Hovering, was the term Zack had used once, but he hadn’t said it like a complaint.

 

“You should get a new sword.” Vincent finally said. “You’ve been using WRO standard issue swords, but I’m sure they’re not as good as the ones you had in the past.” 

 

Zack shrugged. Zack never seemed to care about his weapons (he maintained them, and then forgot them), Vincent had always assumed it was because he didn’t truly have an attachment to them. Or if he merely lacked an understanding of their worth. 

 

“Nah, standard issue is good enough for me.” Zack rolled his shoulders like he was testing the weight of his blade. Pausing with a confused look, he looked back at the pipe. Zack assessed it for a second, like he was piecing together the memory of how it had gotten there, then he smiled. It was a warm smile that never failed to make all of Vincent’s tension instantly melt away. Zack refocused on the Buster Sword with that same smile. “I’m happy with what I’m given.” Zack wiped the side of the blade like he was greeting and old and cherished friend. 

 

Zack was always careful about gifts, he treated them with equal parts reverence and functionality. The Buster Sword seemed to be one such gift. The weight of its history was clear, but the details were muddy. Angeal had given Zack the blade when Zack met Angeal in a final battle and Angeal passed on: the details leading up to that moment were lost. And then it passed hands to Cloud when Zack had been struck down - a story all of AVALANCHE knew well enough by now. All of it just made Vincent want to know more: know all the details, to collect all of the bits and pieces that made up the person Zack Fair. 

 

“One day, people will want to know where the Buster Sword came from.” Vincent said. Zack looked up, but didn’t turn to Vincent. “Why it stands here, where it came from, whose hands it was passed to…” 

 

“Well, then maybe someone should make a speech?” Zack went back to sharpening the sword. There was something particularly meditative about it. Every so often he would squeeze water out of his pants and onto the wet stone. 

 

“Or write a book.” 

 

“Ha, that’s a good one Mr. Fine.” Zack rocked with the laugh and flicked some water in Vincent’s direction. The drops didn’t make it to the flowers at Vincent’s feet; he was too far away. Obligingly Vincent moved closer but Zack didn’t seem intent to throw anymore at the moment. “You know I can’t write. And if you make Cloud do write about it, his poor yellow head’ll melt.” 

 

“It’s not that you can’t write,” Vincent crouched down next to Zack, making sure not to step on any new growth. “It’s just that you hate the act of writing things down.” Zack never replied to texts, rarely wrote letters unless someone was breathing down his back, and preferred to give oral reports. As far as Vincent knew the only letter he had written willingly was the one he sent to his parents all those years ago; Vincent still couldn’t get him to write another. It wasn’t that Zack had trouble reading (his reading comprehension was extremely high) or that he lacked focus (case in point maintaining his weapons), he just hated sitting down and writing. For a guy who loved to communicate, it was one of Zack’s strangest quirks

 

Zack snorted and went back to sharpening the sword. It was a fruitless endeavor. No matter how sharp the blade was, it was useless now: it stood as a monument for a past that had been lost, for warriors gone too soon. Zack could have taken it with him, could have put it to use; instead he respected Cloud’s wish to keep it a monument. Zack sharpened the blade all the same, with the same care and precision he used on his own blades. 

 

The sound of the metal against the stone was smooth and meditative. Shing, Shing. It was like a prayer. Zack was hyper focused on his task, using no unnecessary movement, not even seeming to recognize Vincent was there. It was just Zack and the sword. It was mesmerizing to watch. 

 

At the same time, it was fundamentally different from how Zack treated his other blades. When the time for polishing and cleaning those came, he would heft his kit out and chatter with Vincent while he sat on the sofa. The Buster Sword was one of Zack’s treasures, and Zack made sure to treat it like one. 

 

Vincent wanted to pry, wanted to press, but wanted Zack to tell him when he was ready. Every time he veered too close to something on the list of Zack’s secret things, the deep claw marks on Zack’s soul resurfaced and Vincent couldn’t bring himself to continue. 

 

The Buster Sword was something Vincent always treaded lightly about. When Zack took a break, he tried to broach the subject again. 

 

“What if I wrote it for you?” Vincent asked. Zack’s arms stopped mid stretch. 

 

Zack tilted his head one way, and then the next, thinking. “Nah.” 

 

That hadn’t been what Vincent expected. It was clear that Zack revered Angeal, and that the people who had known him showed the same respect. “Shouldn’t that memory be shared with the world?” 

 

“Sometimes…” Zack looked at the Buster Sword, and then lifted his gaze to the water and then the scenery beyond it. Through the open doors of the church and past the broken plate, was the sprawl of Edge, and then beyond that the mountains blocking the way to Junon: they sometimes almost looked green. Vincent wondered what Zack saw in that: adventure, hope, memories? “Sometimes it’s best to just keep dreaming and never know the truth.” 

 

Was Zack thinking of Angeal again? Of the hard truths he learned while at Shinra? Or that he thought that the truth wouldn’t be worthy of a monument that so many people were beginning to find holy. Vincent didn’t know.

 

Vincent reached out and touched his boyfriend. There wasn’t much more he could offer; Vincent prided himself on knowing the most about Zack and he knew so little, so little about the things Zack had suffered and what had broken him and remade him. But for now the touch was enough. Zack sighed: his muscles relaxed and his head lowered. 

 

“Sometimes it is.” One day Vincent would get Zack to talk about the past, about the people who he loved and who shaped him. But for now, today was enough to sit side by side and let Zack sharpen a memory, a friend. “Sometimes it is, Mr. Fine.” 

 

Zack laughed softly at that and went back to work with a smile. It wasn’t as wide as the ones earlier, but it was enough. They didn’t say anything else for a long while. 

 

Zack was finished by the time the sun had passed its apex. The Buster Sword sunk back into the ground and Zack smiled at a job well done. Then he turned out to the view.

 

Vincent joined him. Things looked a little more golden and a little more desolate in the noon sun. But being here with Zack to witness the slight shifts of the day, the changes of the light that took his breath away, the way it caught on Zack’s smile… that was perfect. 

 

“Yanno,” Zack said after a stretch. “We should get married here.” 

 

Vincent looked around. It could fit all the people he still cared about, all the people still alive in Zack’s life; and Aeris, and Angeal, and anyone else still watching out for them from the other side (even Grimoire if he had stuck around). “It would be a nice place to have a ceremony.” 

 

Vincent didn’t point out that Zack hadn’t proposed, that Vincent hadn’t either. But they still talked about it: marriage, spending eternity together. 

 

Zack laughed. “And then our honeymoon can be the swamps.” 

 

Vincent snorted. “Really? Don’t people usually go on tropical beach vacations?” 

 

Zack shrugged. “I have bad luck with beaches. A swamp sounds fun.” That was a story that Vincent was interested in knowing more about, a story that he might just be able to finagle out of Zack. 

 

Vincent looped an arm around Zack, enjoying the way Zack gripped back. “It does.” 

 

Vincent managed to stay dry a whole minute before Zack hopped into the water. Vincent hadn’t bothered resisting this time and let the cold wash over him. 

 

They were kissing as they stood, dripping over each other. Vincent laughed into Zack’s kiss, enjoying the wetness that burned away his worries, enjoying the warmth of Zack against him, the feeling of another heartbeat against his chest. 

 

Zack pulled away with a gasp. “I almost forgot! We need to pick up water!” Zack said it like it wasn’t part of his routine. Like Vincent wouldn’t know. 

 

“I’m fairly certain we have water enough.” Vincent kissed away Zack’s pout. These moments with Zack were enough, where they just lived life and made plans for the future.

 

[...]

 

It was nostalgic, tedious, and rewarding. So much of life had changed in the time Zack had been old enough to do chores, and hell, even from when he first arrived in Midgar. Cooking, bathing, getting places… it was all so fast and efficient. From rivers, chocobo, and fires to pipes, planes, gas stoves.

 

There were some people who had grown up with those things all their life, and some people who might never see them at all. It was weird to think about. Weird how much humanity had changed even in the brief snippet that Zack had been around to see it. 

 

Zack was a little relieved, honestly, that some things never changed: swords still broke, still had to be sharpened and reforged. People got old, people were born, life changed with the seasons, and Vincent came with him to fetch water. It made sense to swing by the house and pick up the water jug after visiting with Angeal and Aeris; it seemed like the kind of thing they would have both liked to do. 

 

Zack chatted up the old gossips at the well as Vincent hid behind him, looking as socially awkward as he must have felt. But Vincent refused to leave the water line even if Zack gave him an easy out (“oh, hey, can you go pick up some greens?”). It was a little painful to watch sometimes, but Vincent was a trooper. Zack still had trouble why Vincent stuck to the line - his gut said Mr. Fine just wanted to keep hanging out (which was a little weird if he thought about it since they basically spent 24/7 attached at the hip), but there was probably something more than that that Vincent wasn’t saying. Vincent always played in a cloak of half-truths. 

 

Vincent was leaning against the bricks of the well as Zack lowered the bucket. Their jug was there all marked up and dusty from the walk. They could have gotten a place with running water, Reeve had offered them one right next to the WRO center. But honestly Zack could live with a things going slow. And fetching water from a well was about as slow as you could go. 

 

When there was a lapse in the conversation and Zack was finally at the well, Vincent spoke up. “You’re on good terms with everybody.” 

 

Vincent always came with him, always got to watch and listen, and always seemed a little awed that Zack just got along with people. Vincent seemed to underestimate the power of good gossip, a smile and a nod in the right place, and talking back. Which was weird for a former Turk, who were supposed to know how everything worked. 

 

“Well,” Zack wasn’t sure how to answer, so he decided to derail. “apparently no one’s on good terms with Becky after she knocked over Bobby’s shack. But Bobby was being a dick to her but everyone’s still on good terms with him. And, whoo, I just don’t know what’s going on with Xiuping but I think she thinks she’s an illegitimate princess of Wutai or something. Maybe she’s Yuffie’s long lost cousin!” 

 

“You blend in effortlessly with the people around you.” Vincent said with a sage nod. “You would have been a good Turk.”

 

That was high praise from a Turk. Zack suddenly imagined, briefly, what his life would have been like if he had joined the Turks instead of SOLDIER… maybe he would have never met Angeal, never have killed him. Maybe he would have learned how to talk someone down, how to keep his fat mouth shut, how to stop the world from ending. Those were a lot of maybes, and maybes like that didn’t change things. Just made him think about the past too much, the past he could never change the past that was long gone. 

 

There were other maybes Zack cared about. Maybes like the ones where Angeal might still be looking out for him on the other side, maybes like there might be someone he could save just by giving a helpful hand or sympathetic ear, maybes like he could support the people he cared about through their hardships, maybes like Vincent waiting for him when things went bad. Those were the maybes that mattered, future maybes: the ones Zack wanted to think about.

 

“Or,” Zack countered, realizing it had been a little too long since he responded. Vincent never called him on stuff like that. “I coulda been a normal guy who just likes to gossip. We’ll never know.”

 

The bucket splooshed, Zack gave it a second to fill with water before rolling it in. 

 

The marketplace was quieter than usual, picturesque almost. The din of the crowd, conversations popping up before quieting, laughter: comforting noises. The well was spotted with moss from spilled water - maybe the greenest part of Edge. It was all very domestic: fetching water with Vincent from the watering hole. It made Zack feel light and floaty, like he was fuzzy in the head and about to go to sleep. Peace. This is what that felt like. Simple things, simple life. 

 

“Do you think vampires would have a well, a river, or indoor plumbing?” Vincent asked out of nowhere. Vincent tended to do that, pull a thread of random thoughts and sew it together like they should have been having this conversation ages ago. 

 

It was just another piece in the calm of Zack’s new and simple life: Vincent being ridiculous, Vincent baiting him with stories and myths and legends, Vincent being the biggest nerd ever, Vincent being kept awake at night with thoughts of vampires and nudging Zack awake with an inane question. Zack loved it. 

 

“Uh…” Zack paused the crank, realized that wasn’t helping his brain concentrate, and kept going. “Don’t vampires bathe in the ocean?” 

 

Zack could feel Vincent staring at him. Zack had a lot of familiarity with that stare: the one that defined confused disbelief (weird how it looked the same on pretty much everyone). Vincent also had an adorable pout that came with it, though no one but Zack ever got to see it with that mantle in the way. “No. They don’t.” He said it so matter of factly, like there was no way he could be wrong. 

 

Zack didn’t think anyone was 100% on anything, especially not a mythological being’s bathing habits. Vincent got stubborn about the randomnest things. Well, if Zack could talk Vincent down from that high chocobo he might be able to talk anyone else down. Well, it was good practice anyway.

 

“Well, who says they wouldn’t?” Zack pulled up the bucket onto the side of the well with a huff. “People used to think they didn’t bathe at all, but if you’re an immortal wouldn’t you at least want to keep your skin looking pretty? Once a year in Gongaga all the ladies used to go wash in the shallows in the moonlight. Like, yanno, on top of washing in the river normally, but this was like special water or something. I don’t know. Anyway, why wouldn’t vampires just bathe in the ocean all the time?” Zack didn’t know if that even made sense now that it was out of his mouth. 

 

Vincent opened their WRO emblazoned water jug and put the funnel in. “That seems like a bit of a stretch. It is unlikely that vampire skincare regimens would mirror humans’. The goal of human skincare is to keep acne from breaking out and reduce the appearance of age. Vampires, as you know, naturally have the appearance of youth.”

 

Zack tipped the bucket, letting the sound of water sluicing into their jug soothe him. The argument was nonsense, it was fun, he lived for it. Practice in conversation that helped him get better, practice that helped him stay calm, practice that would help someone one day. “Really? You and I have very different definitions of why you make me bathe once a week. Like, I don’t care about smelling weird but you sure complain.” 

 

“Humph.” Vincent speak for: well I don’t actually need to bathe I just do it to look pretty. If Zack thought too hard about it, it was incredibly weird that Vincent never sweat at all. 

The bucket was empty. Zack jiggled it to get a few more drops and then released it back over the well. Vincent removed their chocobo-yellow funnel and sealed up the water jug. 

 

“Regardless, of why they bathe. Why do you think the ocean over the others options?” 

 

“Well, it’s cuz…” Zack laughed as they moved out of the way and another group took up position at the well. They looked like a family. 

 

Zack was struck, watching them. He was stuck on the way they smiled at each other, the way the parents quietly explained how the well worked where the water came from, the way the children giggled. Could vampires have a family - what family could you make and keep when you were immortal? Wouldn’t the people you invite in your life simply wither away and die? Zack looked at Vincent again. 

 

Maybe Vincent was immortal. Maybe Zack was, too. Even if they didn’t have anyone else, they could be family enough together. 

 

Zack realized Vincent was still staring at him but couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Instead he just hummed a bit and said, “Yeah. Sounds good.” Zack lifted the jug of water over his shoulder and started off. “Let’s go make some soup.” 

 

Vincent shook his head but followed - for a guy who said he could eat anything, he was the pickiest eater Zack knew. 

 

Their free hands bumped and fingers wrapped around each other. It was a warm and solid connection - the water on Zack’s shoulder, the hand in his, and the ground beneath his feet. Simple things, simple life. 

 

Who knew that everything Zack needed could be found at the end of the world? Maybe Zack would never see his mom and dad again, maybe he would never get to find a kid and help raise them right, maybe he would and he would have to watch that kid mature too soon or die too young, maybe it would just be him and Vincent until the end of time. The thought didn’t scare him as much as it used to. 

 

“Hey,” Zack said. 

 

“Hmm?” Vincent turned and Zack kissed him on the nose. He blinked rapidly like he was trying to understand what just happened. 

 

“You’re cute, Mr. Fine.” 

 

Vincent recovered quickly and leaned down, nuzzling Zack’s nose with his own. It was kinda wet. “And you’re cute, too, Mr. Fine.”

 

They laughed. And everything was perfect. 


End file.
